


get in the queue

by almostafantasia



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bartender!Eve, Day 5 - Jealousy, F/F, Killing Eve Week, Womaniser!Villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: In which Eve is the owner of the bar that Villanelle uses to pick up women and gets a front row seat to Villanelle's varied and successful seduction techniques. Techniques that she is definitelynotgoing to fall for when she suddenly finds them being used on herself...
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 94
Kudos: 724
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

In twenty years of working behind a bar, Eve has probably seen everything.

Not this woman, though. Eve would remember if she had seen her before.

Eve has seen her type before. The lone hunter who enters inconspicuously and finds a vantage point to scope out the other customers, looking for easy prey to seduce and then take home. When she isn’t busy pulling pints and mixing cocktails, Eve spends her time behind the bar just people-watching, experienced enough to recognise somebody who is only looking for a meaningless conquest.

They don’t normally look like this though. The hunters are mostly men, sometimes young and carefree and just looking for another notch on their bedpost, sometimes older with a sprinkle of grey in their hair and the telltale indentation of a removed wedding ring on their finger, seeking a night away from the strains of married life in an attempt to cling to fading youth. On the rare occasion that the loners are female, they usually bring the burden of heartbreak with them, looking for nothing more than a rebound hookup.

This woman is none of those things. She is young and gorgeous, perhaps mid-twenties but carrying herself with the authority of somebody much older. Her clothes help to give that impression, a patterned two piece suit that looks like it probably cost more than Eve makes in a single month - though the blonde hair scraped back into a neat braid and the understated makeup emphasise her youthful glow.

She enters the bar alone, which is what draws Eve’s attention to her, because people only arrive alone if they are here to meet up with somebody else or if they are on the prowl for a companion to take home. When this woman makes a beeline for the bar, not bothering to scan the room for people that she may know, Eve knows that it must be the latter.

With Kenny in the back changing the barrels and Hugo at the other end of the bar preening in front of a group of university-aged girls as he mixes their cocktails, it is left to Eve to serve the newcomer.

“What can I get for you?” Eve asks, as she wipes at the sticky surface of the bar with a wet cloth.

“Scotch,” says the woman. “Neat. And another of what  _ she’s _ having.”

The woman gestures along the bar to where a lone girl sits, staring down at the screen of her phone to avoid the awkwardness of having to acknowledge that she is drinking alone. If Eve had to guess, she would say that the girl has most likely been stood up on a first date, judging by the way that she has been carefully sipping on the same vodka soda for the last forty minutes, while her eyes flit between the screen of her phone and the door.

“She’s on a date,” replies Eve, reaching below the bar to take out two glasses.

“Then where is he?” the woman asks, and Eve realises for the first time that she is speaking with a voice that is accented with an Eastern European inflection. “It looks to me like she needs cheering up.”

As she turns around and pours a shot of vodka into one of the glasses, before plucking a bottle of scotch off the shelf, Eve shoots an amused look over her shoulder and asks, “And that’s what you’re going to do, huh? Cheer her up?”

“I am very good at cheering women up.”

Her voice is laced with innuendo and Eve does her absolute best to display no outward reaction to this as she tops up the vodka with soda and drops a lime wedge into the glass, before placing both drinks on the bar.

“Cash or card?” Eve asks.

The woman pulls out a twenty pound note and gives it to Eve.

“Keep the change,” she says. She nudges the vodka soda back towards Eve, then asks, “Would you mind doing the honours?”

Eve makes a show of rolling her eyes, then picks up the drink and moves down the bar to where the other girl sits, still scrolling through her messages on her phone.

“For you,” says Eve, placing the drink down in front of her.

“Oh, I didn’t order…”

“It’s from the lady in the suit at the end of the bar,” Eve explains.

The girl finally glances up from her phone to seek out her admirer. The woman in the suit raises her glass of scotch as a greeting from afar and the other girl blushes shyly, the date who stood her up apparently pushed from her mind by the generosity of this stranger. The woman smiles to herself and approaches her target, making seduction look effortless as she slots into a space next to the girl she bought the drink for and makes her smooth introduction.

“You looked lonely,” she says, leaning against the bar and taking a casual sip of her scotch. “For the record, I think he’s an idiot for bailing on somebody so beautiful.”

Feeling as though she is now outstaying her welcome, Eve shoots the woman in the suit one final look, a silent  _ ‘enjoy your night’, _ and then turns to put the twenty pound note in the cash register.

Another night, another two strangers whose night of passion begins at Eve’s bar.

* * *

Eve quickly forgets about the woman after that night. There are too many other customers to serve, too many other people hooking up in her bar, for that one fleeting interaction to stick in Eve’s mind for long.

Until she returns two weeks later.

Eve is going to have to stop mentally referring to her as ‘the woman in the suit’ because she isn’t wearing one this time. Dressed in a pair of burgundy belted trousers and a silk shirt beneath a stylish leather jacket, the woman blends in well with the midweek clientele of mainly students who don’t care about a potential Wednesday morning hangover.

As the woman wanders over to the bar, Eve ducks around behind Kenny as he fills two pint glasses with draught ale, and approaches so that she can be the one to serve her.

“Scotch?” Eve asks, arching an eyebrow.

The woman visibly relaxes when she recognises Eve, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“You remember me?” she asks Eve, in a low voice.

“We don’t get many young women ordering whiskey,” Eve explains.

“Not tonight. I’ll have -” The woman trails off and her gaze flits upwards to eye the specials’ board above Eve’s head, “- a peach daiquiri.”

Eve tries not to let the surprise show on her face, because going from neat whiskey to a fruity cocktail is quite a change.

As Eve picks up a clean cocktail shaker and a jigger to measure the alcohol, she wonders whether to comment about the girl that this woman bought a drink for last time, because Eve can’t deny that she is curious about whether it was a success or not. But it is none of Eve’s business and her own success relies on building up good relationships with customers, not sticking her nose into their business.

“I’m taking a break now, Eve,” says Kenny, startling Eve out of her thoughts with a hand on her shoulder. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Of course,” Eve replies. “Go ahead.”

Kenny disappears through the door into the back and Eve finishes measuring ingredients into the shaker, while the customer just leans closer on the bar with a glint of something that Eve doesn’t quite recognise in her eyes.

“Eve, huh?” she says, apparently happy to have overheard Kenny saying Eve’s name. “Pretty name. It suits you.”

Feeling her cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, Eve slots the lid onto the shaker and jams it into place with the palm of her hand. She shakes it around between her hands, the noise of the ice rattling against metal saving her from having to come up with an immediate response.

“Do you have a name?” Eve eventually asks, as she carefully pours the finished cocktail into a clean glass.

“Of course I have a name,” sniggers the woman.

“I just mean that in my head you’ve been ‘the woman in the suit’ or ‘scotch girl’ since you were last here.”

It is about as clear an invitation to introduce herself as Eve could give without directly asking for the woman’s name to sate her curiosity, but instead the woman latches onto something else.

“You’ve been thinking about me?”

Her voice is deep and husky, and it sends the heat pooling low to places in Eve’s body that really shouldn’t be this affected by a goddamn  _ voice. _

“Not what I meant,” counters Eve. “I just recognised you when you walked in and thought to myself “that’s the woman in the suit who ordered a scotch”, except neither of those things are true tonight and “the woman with assorted clothing who orders whatever the hell she wants” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

The woman regards Eve through narrowed eyes, then relaxes into a smile.

“I like you, Eve.”

Eve finishes the cocktail with a garnish and drops the shaker beneath the bar to be cleaned.

“Are you ordering for anybody else too?” Eve asks, referencing the last time the woman was here.

“Not yet,” she answers, producing a bank card from her wallet and tapping it against the machine that Eve presents her with to pay. There is a moment of silence between them as the machine spits out a receipt, then the woman adds, “It’s Villanelle, by the way. My name.”

Eve tilts her head slightly to the side as her brain takes a few seconds to associate the name with the person in front of her. It’s an unusual name, one that Eve has not heard before, but the person it belongs to is far from ordinary.

“It suits you,” Eve says, echoing Villanelle’s earlier words.

“Thank you.”

Villanelle lifts her glass to her lips and takes a small sip of her fruity drink, before she leans on the bar and turns her body slightly to survey the rest of the room. She appears to see something that she likes in the form of a girl that passes behind her on her way back from the bathroom.

“Oh my god, Samantha?” exclaims Villanelle, in a surprisingly good English accent that is completely different to her natural voice.

The girl stops and stares at Villanelle blankly, then shakes her head and says, “My name isn’t Samantha.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” continues Villanelle, resting an apologetic hand on the girl’s arm. “It’s just that you look exactly like a girl I used to go to boarding school with. Well, not  _ exactly _ like her. Now that I look closely, I can see that you’ve got different eyes. Yours are a much deeper shade of blue.”

Eve only just manages to suppress a snort at this. There is no way that this is going to work, which is why Eve busies herself with cleaning the bar to spare Villanelle the embarrassment of having Eve’s eyes on her as she gets shot down.

But then, against all odds, the girl giggles, actually  _ giggles _ as she seems to succumb to Villanelle’s charm.

“Can I also just say that I love your dress?” Villanelle continues to the girl. “Where did you get it from?”

As the girl answers, Villanelle spares a glance in Eve’s direction and shoots her a covert thumbs up, before she quickly returns her attention to the girl and pretends to be interested in her answer to the question.

Unbelievable.

* * *

Villanelle returns to the bar the following week, once again dressed in an immaculate suit that leaves Eve’s mouth uncomfortably dry when she notices her. This suit is more elegant, with a subtle pinstripe, though it is no less devastating in its impact than the first.

“Hi, Eve,” says Villanelle, edging into a space at the bar close to Eve, despite the fact that there is much more room further down towards where Elena is serving customers.

“You’re back,” says Eve, in place of a greeting, as she deftly flicks the metal caps off two bottles of beer to finish serving another customer.

“I am,” answers Villanelle. “And in another suit. Just in case you’ve forgotten my name.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Eve says. “What are you drinking tonight? Scotch again?”

“Just tap water for now.”

“Not many people come here on a Friday night and drink water.”

“I’m not like most people.”

Eve raises her eyebrows at this, though internally she can’t help but agree. Villanelle certainly seems to be one of a kind, or at least has given off that impression during their two brief encounters.

“Ice?”

“Yes please.”

Eve fills a glass with ice, then tops it up with water, before placing it in front of Villanelle.

“Thank you, Eve.”

Villanelle seems perfectly content to sit at the bar and sip on her water as Eve continues to serve other customers. Eve spares her a glance when she can and occasionally finds her looking around the crowded bar, as if searching for somebody who catches her eye, but mostly Eve just finds Villanelle looking back at her.

It’s a little unnerving at first. Eve has been working behind a bar since she was a student and could probably pour drinks in her sleep, but she feels self-conscious as Villanelle watches her work, like every little thing she does is being carefully examined.

It is not for another twenty minutes that there is a lull at the bar, and Eve fills up her own glass of water and returns to where Villanelle is.

“Can I ask you something?” Eve asks. When Villanelle nods and gestures for her to continue, Eve tilts her head to the side and asks, “Do you come to my bar just to pick up women?”

Villanelle’s eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected question, but she quickly regains her composure and ignores the question to ask one of her own.

_ “Your  _ bar?”

_ “My _ bar,” Eve confirms with a tiny nod.

Villanelle stays quiet as she processes this new information, a slight shift in her hazel eyes as she seems to look at Eve slightly differently, as if impressed by the fact that Eve owns the bar.

“To answer your question,” Villanelle eventually says, “I don’t  _ just _ come in here to pick up women. I mean, yes, I suppose it’s  _ one _ of the reasons, but not the only-”

Villanelle trails off as a woman brushes past her on the way to the bathroom. Her eyes follow the woman’s retreating form, raking down her body and eventually settling on the curves of her ass. Eve’s mouth falls open as Villanelle’s ogling only becomes more obvious as she leans backwards to continue checking the woman out for as long as possible, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

When the woman disappears through the door that leads to the restrooms, Villanelle seems to snap out of her trance and remembers where she is.

“Sorry,” Villanelle mumbles, before adding a breathy, “Wow.”

It’s not jealousy that clenches at Eve’s chest, but it’s something, heavy and uncomfortable as she wonders whether she should comment on Villanelle’s reaction to the woman who walked past. But then Eve doesn’t need to, because Villanelle takes a long sip of water, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the rim of the glass, then drops off the barstool to follow the woman into the bathroom.

“Excuse me for just a minute,” Villanelle says to Eve, just before she goes.

It doesn’t hurt, except that it  _ does, _ even though it shouldn’t, because why should Eve be bothered by the fact that Villanelle was mid-conversation with her when she so abruptly left to make contact with the woman she has apparently decided she wants to hook up with tonight.

“For fuck’s sake,” Eve mutters under her breath, scolding herself more than anything else.

“What’s up?” asks Elena, passing behind Eve and bending down to collect some bottles of beer from the fridge below the counter.

“Customers,” Eve explains, keeping her complaint as vague as possible.

“Oh god, tell me about it,” Elena agrees as she straightens up. “I swear they all get ten times sleazier on a Friday night.”

As Elena takes the beers back to her waiting customers, Eve shoots one final glance towards the door that leads to the bathrooms, then turns her attention to somebody waiting to be served and forces a smile onto her face.

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

Eve continues to serve drinks, with Villanelle’s smirk only occupying a corner of her mind while she works. It is only when ten minutes have passed and Villanelle’s drink remains abandoned on the bar with the ice cubes rapidly melting, that Eve starts to question when, or even  _ if, _ she will return. Perhaps she managed to persuade the woman to go home with her and slipped out of the bathroom unnoticed, leaving the bar without saying goodbye to Eve at all.

Not that it should matter. It’s not like they are even friends.

Picking up a spray bottle of disinfectant, Eve steps out from behind the bar and pushes open the door to the bathrooms under the guise of cleaning. The female restroom is at the end of the hall and Eve walks all the way along, half expecting to find Villanelle in full seduction mode when she opens the door.

But the bathroom is empty. There is no sign of Villanelle or the woman she followed, or any other customers for that matter. Eve absently sprays disinfectant and wipes around the sinks, checking each cubicle as she passes, but they are all empty.

So Villanelle and her enviable powers of seduction have done it again, and she must have left the bar with yet another woman who seems to have fallen for her charm. Eve wonders how Villanelle did it this time, whether it was the knight in shining armour routine from the first time, or the case of mistaken identity from the second, or an entirely different play altogether.

And the poor women - do they know what they are, that they are just a statistic in what is undoubtedly an extensive list of conquests?

Anyway, who is Eve to judge? If Villanelle was a man, Eve would probably be a little disgusted but would think nothing more of it. But Villanelle is not a man, instead a young and incredibly gorgeous woman, and good for her for owning her sexuality and going out to get what she wants.

Even if what she wants is every female customer in Eve’s bar.

If Villanelle was a man, Eve would not spare her a second thought.

Then why is so much of Eve’s mind occupied by the thought of Villanelle hooking up with random women?

Eve leaves the women’s bathroom and makes her way back down the hallway towards the bar. But as she passes the single-stalled disabled restroom, she notices almost by accident that the lock is engaged and the stall is occupied.

What if Villanelle is in there?

Grateful that the bathrooms are in a separate corridor that is separated from the main bar by a door, Eve quickly checks that nobody is around and presses her ear to the door of the disabled bathroom.

She hears nothing, not even when she closes her eyes to focus on just sound.

And then Eve realises what she is doing, that she has her ear pressed to a locked bathroom door like a total creep while somebody is probably inside doing their completely normal business.

Eve’s eyes snap open as she finally hears a noise from the other side of the door. Not the sound of a toilet flushing or running water or even the hand dryer whirring into life, but a  _ whimper. _

What she hears next is more shocking.

“You like that?”

It’s Villanelle’s voice, low and sinful and followed by a more pronounced moan that definitely comes from a second person who sounds like yes, they very much  _ do _ like whatever it is that Villanelle is doing to them.

Eve bolts back to the bar as soon as she realises what is happening on the other side of that door, her cheeks burning red with the knowledge that Villanelle is doing god knows what (and doing it well, based on the sounds she was eliciting) to the other woman.

“You okay?” Elena asks Eve as she slips back behind the bar.

“Yeah. It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

Eve fans at her face with her free hand, hoping that Elena buys the excuse for any colour in Eve’s cheeks.

With the bottle of disinfectant still in her other hand, Eve sprays the surface of the bar and wipes it down with a rag to give herself something to do. It is not the bar that needs cleaning, but Eve is unable to use the spray and the wet cloth to cleanse her mind of the memory of the last few minutes, which is what she really wishes she could be doing.

For Villanelle to use Eve’s bar to hook up with random women is fine. She is a woman with needs, just like most people, and whether she tends to those needs with casual flings or meaningful relationships or even just with her own trusty hands is none of Eve’s business.

But for Villanelle to use Eve’s bar to actually  _ hook up _ with women?

Eve should be indifferent to that too. It makes absolutely no sense for Eve’s mind to be completely consumed by images of Villanelle fucking a stranger.

They’re both strangers, both Villanelle and the woman she is fucking, because Eve doesn’t actually know Villanelle. Sure, she knows that Villanelle sometimes wears suits and sometimes doesn’t, and that Villanelle sometimes drinks scotch and sometimes doesn’t, but she doesn’t actually  _ know _ Villanelle.

She knows that Villanelle is attracted to pretty women and that those pretty women are also attracted to Villanelle.

To Villanelle, who has just emerged from the door that leads to the bathroom, looking as put together as she did when she first arrived at the bar, as if she hasn’t just fucked somebody in the disabled loo.

Except that she is now  _ glowing. _

Jesus, sex looks good on this woman.

“I’m back,” Villanelle says, hoisting herself up onto the same stool as before as if nothing has happened. “Did you miss me?”

Is Eve supposed to ignore what she knows and act like everything is normal?

_ How _ is she supposed to act normal?

“I-”

Eve trails off as the door to the bathrooms swings open and the other woman emerges. Eve watches as she makes brief eye contact with Villanelle as she passes, then looks away with a flush to her cheeks.

Villanelle just smirks to herself and takes a sip from the glass of water she abandoned earlier.

Eve can’t just act normal.

“Did you just -” Eve pauses, then lowers her voice to a whisper, “- have sex with that woman in the bathroom?”

“Eve,” Villanelle practically purrs. “Are you jealous?”

“No, I’m not jeal-”

Eve’s eyes find the woman across the bar, watching as she rejoins a group of friends who don’t seem to have noticed that she was gone for far longer than a normal trip to the bathroom should take. The woman takes a seat beside a man who immediately puts his hand on her knee, a hand that bears a gold wedding band on his ring finger.

“Jesus Christ, I think she’s married.”

Villanelle briefly glances over her shoulder at the pair, then turns back to face Eve and says, “That explains a  _ lot.” _

Eve has many questions but the main one that is plaguing her mind is  _ how, _ how does Villanelle manage to effortlessly seduce whoever she sets her mind upon? She is obviously attractive, which helps, but  _ how _ does Villanelle manage to follow a complete stranger into a public restroom, a married stranger, and then emerge fifteen minutes later having fucked her? What did Villanelle say to her that was  _ that _ effective?

“I’m not judging you,” says Eve, even though she is judging Villanelle a little bit. “Have as much sex as you want, by all means. But you make it look so effortless, like you could just walk up to any woman and she is yours.”

Villanelle’s lips curl up into a little smile.

“I am very good at reading people,” she replies with a shrug. “I figure out what they need and then I become that.”

Eve thinks back to the other times that Villanelle has come to the bar and realises that it is true. It is not Villanelle who seduces these women, but versions of Villanelle that are carefully crafted personas to mask the reality underneath. Everything that Villanelle does, from her clothes to what she drinks, even down to the personality that she displays, is a choice in that moment to influence how she is perceived by others. Eve wonders if the Villanelle in front of her now is a persona too, if there are real emotions and vulnerabilities concealed beneath the suit and the swagger.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Eve asks, leaning on the counter between them. “Pretending to be somebody else all the time?”

Villanelle’s eyebrows crease into a frown.

“I don’t understand the question.”

Eve waits for a few seconds, then shakes her head.

“Never mind. Just … maybe next time you could keep it out of my bathrooms?”

“Sure.”

Eve notices that another customer is waiting to be served and she takes a step back away from Villanelle.

“I should get back to work,” says Eve. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

* * *

“Hi, Eve!”

It’s a Saturday night and already quite late, which means that the bar is rammed full of people. Villanelle has to almost shout to be heard over the cacophony of drunk voices and the music pumping out from the speakers. 

“Hi,” says Eve, noting the wide smile on Villanelle’s face and the good mood she appears to be in. “How are you?”

“I am very good, thank you, Eve.”

There is absolutely no need for Villanelle to drawl Eve’s name in the way that she does, elongating the word and lowering her voice to a tone that borders on sultry.

“Great,” Eve manages to reply, despite her dry mouth. “What can I get for you?”

Villanelle leans to the side and squints at the bottles in the fridge behind Eve.

“A bottle of Laurent-Perrier, please.”

“You’ve got expensive tastes tonight,” comments Eve, opening the fridge behind her and selecting the right bottle, before she finds a bucket to fill with ice.

“Uh huh,” agrees Villanelle. “And could I have three glasses too?”

Eve pauses midway through scooping ice into the bucket and looks back up at Villanelle.

“Three?”

A slow grin spreads across Villanelle’s face.

“Three,” she confirms, with a nod.

Eve watches as Villanelle glances over her shoulder and she follows her gaze to where two girls sit side by side at a nearby table, one blonde and one brunette but both around the same age as Villanelle. They look up when they feel Villanelle’s eyes on them and when she shoots them a flirty wave, they both glance away and start whispering and giggling between themselves.

Well  _ that _ explains Villanelle’s good mood tonight.

Eve drops the bottle into the bucket of ice with slightly more force than necessary, startling Villanelle’s attention back towards her.

Placing the bucket on the bar and producing three glasses, Eve rings up Villanelle’s total through the register and offers out the card machine so that she can pay.

“Enjoy your night,” says Eve, hoping that her voice isn’t laced with the bitterness that she can taste in her mouth.

“Oh, I’m sure I will!”

Eve can only watch as Villanelle collects the glasses between the fingers of one hand and picks up the bucket with the other, before turning and wandering back over to the girls. She puts the drinks down on a nearby table, then drops onto the bench between them, placing a hand on one girl’s legs while laughing at something that the other says.

It’s not jealousy that Eve feels.

It’s  _ not. _


	2. Chapter 2

Eve doesn’t see Villanelle for a few weeks after that night.

She isn’t disappointed, she  _ isn’t, _ but she does occasionally catch herself looking around the bar to see if Villanelle has shown up.

There are all kinds of reasons why Villanelle might have stopped coming in. Perhaps she has found a new bar with different women to hit on, perhaps she does still come to Eve’s bar but on the nights that Eve isn’t working, or perhaps she has given up women altogether and has joined a convent for a new life of celibacy.

Okay, it’s probably not  _ that, _ though stranger things have happened.

The upside of not seeing Villanelle is that Eve doesn’t have to worry about the disabled bathroom being used for illicit trysts.

The downside of not seeing Villanelle is … well, _ not seeing Villanelle. _

And then, one day, Villanelle is back as if she was never not here.

She shows up on a Monday evening, when the bar is relatively quiet. It’s just Eve and Hugo working tonight, and Eve is bored out of her mind listening to Hugo recount a match-by-match opinion on the football results from the weekend just gone, when she notices Villanelle push open the door and stroll across the room to the bar, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her pants.

“Villanelle,” Eve says, trying not to sound too relieved at the fact that she has an excuse to stop listening to Hugo’s complaints about a biased referee in the Chelsea game. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you,” says Villanelle. She leans both elbows on the bar and rocks forwards, then asks, “Which beer would you recommend?”

“That depends on what you like,” says Eve. “We have a range of lagers and ales on tap, then bottled beers in the fridge behind me if that’s what you prefer.”

“You choose for me.”

Eve considers the offer, then reaches beneath the bar for a pint glass and selects a beer. It’s one of Eve’s personal favourites, but she may be biased because it is brewed by an old friend of hers.

“Try this one,” Eve says, carefully filling the pint glass with the precision of somebody who has done this a million times before.

When the head has settled, Eve tops up the last little bit of the glass and sets it down in front of the Villanelle. She watches as Villanelle lifts the glass to her lips and takes a cautious sip. Villanelle wears a frown on her face as she swallows and tries to figure out whether she likes it.

“You know, Eve,” says Villanelle, setting the glass down again. “This is actually very nice beer. You have excellent taste.”

“My friend Bill owns the brewery,” explains Eve. “I’ll tell him that he has a new fan.”

“I don’t usually drink beer,” admits Villanelle. “It makes me bloated. But this is what British people do, isn’t it?” Villanelle switches effortlessly to a local London accent and elaborates, “They go down the pub for a couple o’ pints.”

Eve wonders if that is Villanelle’s character for the evening, if she is planning to pretend to be a local having a post-work pint when she picks up her next conquest.

“So, Eve,” continues Villanelle, speaking in her own accent once again. “How are you? How is life?”

“I’m fine. And life is good.”

“Better now that your favourite customer is back, right?” grins Villanelle.

Unwilling to play into Villanelle’s game, Eve thinks quickly and pretends to look around the bar with a frown on her face.

“Really? Where are they?”

“Asshole,” says Villanelle, reaching across the counter and playfully nudging her hand against Eve’s. “It’s me! I’m your favourite.”

The touch of their fingers against each other is only casual, but it startles Eve like a buzz of static electricity.

So  _ this _ is how Villanelle does it, huh? This is how she seduces women, with light touches and easy conversation and likeable charm oozing from every pore. It is so well-rehearsed that it has become second nature to her. Eve wonders if Villanelle even realises that she is doing it right now.

Or that she is successfully charming Eve.

“Tell me about yourself, Eve. How did you come to own this bar?”

Eve is not going to fall for it, dammit. Eve can see right through it, see Villanelle’s charm for the facade that it is, which is why it’s not going to work…

“I bought it off my friend, the one who brews the beer,” answers Eve, gesturing to Villanelle’s drink. “I used to work here for him and then he decided to sell it to set up a brewery at around the same time that I came into some money after my divorce…”

“Wait,” interrupts Villanelle. “You were married?”

“For ten years,” nods Eve. “I don’t recommend it. He cheated on me with a woman he worked with. Which sucked at the time, like  _ really _ sucked, but I did very well out of the divorce as a result.”

“Well enough to buy a bar!”

“Exactly!” agrees Eve. She pauses, then shakes her head and continues, “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to listen to me whine about my ex-husband.”

“No! I like hearing about your life!” Villanelle insists, reaching out to rest her hand over Eve’s, and Eve is really going to have to implement a ‘no touching’ rule soon, if she doesn’t want to go into cardiac arrest.

Who gave Villanelle permission to have such soft hands?

“So, uh, what do you do?” Eve asks,  _ anything _ to distract her from the inappropriate direction her thoughts are threatening to take.

“I am an international businesswoman,” says Villanelle, announcing it in such a way that immediately makes Eve doubt whether there is any truth in it.

“That’s very non-specific,” Eve points out.

Villanelle grins and says, “You’re right, that’s just a cover up for my real job. I’m actually a very skilled hitwoman.”

Her expression is dead serious and Eve almost believes her for half a second, before Villanelle tips her head back and cackles with glee.

“I wish my life was that exciting,” continues Villanelle. “But no, I just go to meetings in cities around the world and shake a lot of hands. It is incredibly dull but I am very good at it so they pay me a lot of money and I like travelling.”

“Where’s the best place you’ve been?” Eve asks.

“Call me cheesy, but I love Paris.”

“You hopeless romantic,” teases Eve.

“Paris has the best food and the most beautiful women. I lived there for two years before I came to London.”

“If you liked it so much, why did you leave?”

“Because London is better for business.” Villanelle leans her elbow on the counter and then rests her chin against the palm of her hand, as she leans closer to Eve and says, “The food here is shit but there are still some very beautiful women.”

There is an intensity in Villanelle’s eyes and something else concealed deep within the black of her wide pupils as she stares at Eve, that causes Eve’s heart to start doing a little gymnastics routine in her chest. But Villanelle isn’t referring to Eve in that comment, she  _ can’t _ be referring to Eve, instead all the other women that Eve has seen her hook up with and all the ones that she has no idea about.

“Speaking of beautiful women, has anybody caught your eye tonight?” And then, because she realises that it might sound like a come on, Eve quickly elaborates, “Anybody else in the bar, I mean. Those girls over there are quite pretty.”

Villanelle briefly looks over to wear Eve gestures, but then turns back to Eve and takes a sip of her drink.

“Not tonight,” answers Villanelle, shaking her head. “Casual sex is getting dull. It does nothing for me anymore.”

All that Eve can manage to say is, “Oh.”

“Anyway,” Villanelle suddenly blurts out in a loud voice. “I want to know more about you. Tell me more about your bar!”

* * *

It continues like this.

True to her word, Villanelle remains seated at the bar for the rest of that night, even when her glass has long since been empty. She talks to Eve the whole time, listening intently to everything that Eve says and sharing little tidbits about herself too. Villanelle is completely uninterested by anybody else in the bar, giving her undivided attention to Eve, their conversation interrupted only by the need for Eve to occasionally serve another customer.

And so it continues. Villanelle shows up again two days later, then another five days after that, and then on three separate occasions during the following week. She has become such a regular that Eve considers putting a ‘reserved’ sign on one of the barstools, so that Villanelle always has a place to sit.

She always just sits at the bar and watches Eve work, and they talk when it isn’t as busy or when Eve is on a break, something which, as the owner of the bar, Eve has the luxury of being able to impose upon herself whenever she likes.

There are no other women, at least none that Eve is aware of. Villanelle appears to be a changed woman in that respect, disinterested in hooking up ever since the night of the presumed threesome. Eve does occasionally catch Villanelle looking at women or checking them out as they pass, but she never acts on it and she always has the same response when Eve dares to question her about it.

“But I’m talking to you,” she always answers, as if it is as simple as that.

It is not that simple, of course.

* * *

Hugo is the one who asks the question that changes everything, when it is just the two of them cleaning tables at the end of another night spent chatting to Villanelle across the bar.

“Does she fancy you?”

Eve nearly drops her bottle of disinfectant, but manages to collect herself before Hugo can notice anything.

“Who?” 

“The customer you’re always chatting to,” Hugo elaborates. “The scary-looking blonde one.”

“Scary-looking?” scoffs Eve, because even though Villanelle might look intimidating at first, the more that Eve gets to know her she just realises that Villanelle is actually incredibly soft.

“Yeah,” nods Hugo. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s  _ fit. _ But she also looks like she could snap my neck if she wanted to.”

The idea of Hugo being intimidated by Villanelle is an amusing one, made even more entertaining by Eve’s belief that Villanelle could probably scare the shit out of him if she wanted.

Not Eve, though. Villanelle couldn’t scare Eve. Villanelle is all pretty smiles and soft touches around Eve, asking about her day and actually caring about the answer, cheerful and direct and refreshingly unique and-

“Do you fancy her?”

“What?” splutters Eve, turning her back to Hugo as she wipes down another table so that he can’t see the blush on her cheeks at his truly  _ preposterous _ suggestion. “Why would you even ask that?”

“I’m not judging you if you do,” continues Hugo. “Like I said, she’s hot. There are far worse people to have a one-off lesbian experience with. I bet she knows what she’s doing.”

Eve’s brain is suddenly full of the memory of the woman’s moans from when she overheard Villanelle fucking a stranger in the bathroom, a memory that she has spent weeks trying to suppress but that rears its unwelcome head as if the sound is fresh in her ears again. Eve has no doubt that Hugo is correct in his assessment of Villanelle. Nobody is  _ that _ good at picking up women without having the skills to back it up.

“First of all, it wouldn’t be a one-off lesbian experience because I’ve slept with women before,” Eve tells Hugo, scrubbing furiously at the table. Only two women - one back in college and one shortly after her divorce - though that’s enough for Eve to know that it’s not just a fad, and Hugo really doesn’t need to know the details. “And secondly, it’s not going to happen anyway. She’s just a customer. I like her, but not in that way.”

Hugo seems to consider Eve’s explanation for a few seconds, before he says, “Okay, but if you change your mind, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She would definitely be down for, like, scissoring you, or whatever.”

“Delightfully phrased, Hugo, as always,” says Eve, turning her head to look at him and arching a judgmental brow. “But like I said, that won’t happen. She’s just a friend.”

Just a friend…

_ Is _ she though?

That’s the question which hounds Eve after she locks up behind Hugo and returns to her flat above the bar.

If they are just friends, why does Eve look forward to Villanelle’s visits so much? Why does she miss Villanelle when she isn’t there and spend entire evenings in conversation with her when she is?

Why is she currently lying awake at one o’clock in the morning, staring at the ceiling above her bed while she thinks about Villanelle’s eyes and her hands and her golden hair and her perfect lips?

* * *

“How is my favourite bartender today?”

Just a friend.

_ Just a friend. _

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” asks Eve, glancing at the watch on her wrist.

Villanelle has never come into the bar in the middle of the day before.

“Wow, Eve,” says Villanelle. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course I am. Just surprised, that’s all.”

“My work hours are pretty flexible as long as I make the company a lot of money, which I do. They can manage without me for half an hour. And I was passing by so I thought I would come in and say hello. Because I missed you.”

_ Just friends, _ Eve reminds herself.

“You were in here for four hours last night.”

“Yes, but that was last night,” says Villanelle, with a shrug. She looks around the bar, then says, “It’s different in here during the day.”

“Much quieter,” agrees Eve.

“It means I get you all to myself,” grins Villanelle.

It is very hard to be just friends with somebody who says things like that, who makes Eve’s heart flutter in her chest in this way. There is a part of Eve, a desperate part of her that wonders how Villanelle could possibly make comments like that if she didn’t secretly harbour some non-friendly feelings for Eve.

It is not the first time that Villanelle has said something that gives Eve hope, nor does Eve suspect that it will be the last, but she has to remind herself that it is just that - hope. Eve has seen Villanelle hit on women enough times to know that this is not it. If Villanelle actually wanted Eve, then Eve has no doubt that she would have been led into a bathroom and made to moan Villanelle’s name.

But Eve hasn’t, which is why this crush is entirely one-sided.

Yes, Eve has conceded that she  _ may _ have a little crush on Villanelle. It’s fine - now that she is acknowledging that that’s what it is, it is sure to fade soon, as long as she keeps replacing any inappropriate thoughts that she has with ones that are decidedly more friendly.

Villanelle makes that  _ incredibly _ difficult.

“Why do you always wear your hair up?” asks Villanelle, thankfully oblivious to Eve’s internal crisis. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it down.”

“You don’t want to see it down,” snorts Eve, running a self-conscious hand across her scalp to smooth down the loose flyaways that have managed to escape the confines of the elastic that holds the rest of it out of her face. “It has a life of its own. Sometimes it goes out more than it goes down.”

“Can I see?” asks Villanelle. “Please?”

Eve hesitates for a few seconds, but it is Villanelle’s eyes, wide with innocent hope, that persuades her. She reaches behind her head and carefully loosens the elastic band until her hair springs loose.

“It’s like a lion’s mane, I warned you,” Eve says to Villanelle.

“A  _ sexy _ lion,” says Villanelle, leaning across the bar so that she can run her fingers through the curls. “Seriously, I have hair envy just looking at you.”

Villanelle doesn’t attempt to tame Eve’s hair, but rather uses her fingers to plump Eve’s hair up. Her fingertips brush against Eve’s scalp with a touch that feels incredibly intimate, sending a ripple of pleasure down Eve’s spine. The fine hairs on Eve’s arms prickle to attention and she is grateful that Villanelle is entirely too focused on running her hands through the curly tresses to notice the tangible reaction that she is having on Eve’s body.

And then two things happen at once. Villanelle’s hands fall still on either side of Eve’s head, fingers buried in thick hair, and at the same time, their gazes meet. When their eyes first lock, Villanelle looks back at her with a content smile, as if she is simply enjoying playing with Eve’s hair. But that quickly shifts into something darker, something  _ hungrier, _ until the black of her pupils has almost entirely enveloped her hazel irises.

It is in this moment, with Villanelle leaning across the bar too far for it to possibly be comfortable, her hands still lost in Eve’s hair, looking at Eve like  _ that, _ that Eve realises that they are not just friends.

Villanelle wouldn’t look at her in such a way, as if loosening Eve’s hair from the tie and running her fingers through the soft mane has unlocked a door to Eve’s soul, if this was just a silly one-sided crush.

Villanelle’s eyes leave Eve’s, but only so that her gaze can flit momentarily down to Eve’s mouth, and when Eve does the same and sees that Villanelle’s lips are ever so slightly parted, she realises that they are about to kiss.

She leans in closer, eyes locked on Villanelle’s again, like there is a magnetic pull in the hollow of her pupils that Eve is powerless to drag herself away from.

And then-

“I should get back to work.”

Eve blinks and all it takes is that split second to disrupt the moment. Villanelle’s hands are gone from her hair and she has taken a step back, the barrier of the bar counter between them never more apparent than it is right now.

“Right,” says Eve, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the handle of one of the closest beer taps, just to give herself something solid to hold onto. “You’ve got work.”

“Sorry,” says Villanelle, sliding the hands that were caressing Eve’s hair moments ago into the pockets of her pants, as if worried about what other trouble those hands might cause if she doesn’t stow them away. “If I could stay and talk all afternoon then I would.”

There is no mention of what nearly transpired, no mention of the fact that if Villanelle stayed all afternoon there would be very little talking happening, so Eve follows suit and decides not to draw attention to the kiss that they almost just shared.

“Of course,” Eve nods in agreement, unable to make eye contact with Villanelle out of fear that she might hurdle over the counter and press her mouth to Villanelle’s in what would be a disastrous first kiss. “Don’t let me keep you from important business.”

“What I do isn’t actually that important. But my boss is a hardass and I don’t want to give him a reason to whine at me.”

“I get it. It’s fine. I should be working too.”

Eve glances around the mostly empty bar, where all three of the other patrons are happily seated with drinks in front of them, and her cheeks start to flush with the shame of being caught in an obvious lie.

“I’ll see you soon though, right?” Eve is quick to ask, finally drawing her eyes back to look at Villanelle.

There is a brief moment of eye contact, perhaps not even half a second of it, in which the tension is just as thick as it was half a minute ago when they were face to face and about to kiss, before they both look away.

“Probably. See you, Eve.”


	3. Chapter 3

Eve decides that she has blown it with Villanelle. By unintentionally showing Villanelle that she has been thinking about kissing her, despite the promise she made to herself that she would suppress it and wait for it to disappear on its own, Eve has managed to scare Villanelle away and ruin a budding friendship all at once.

Friendship would be better than nothing. Her conversations with Villanelle have quickly become the best part about Eve’s job. She loves finding out more about this fascinating woman, having somebody to talk to about the mundanities of her own life with, watching the myriad of expressions that cross Villanelle’s face while she talks and listens, her infectious and unashamedly loud laugh that improves Eve’s mood each time she hears it. Eve doesn’t need more than that. It is  _ selfish _ of her to want more than that.

But now Eve has none of it.

Each time she recalls that moment, the memory of Villanelle making a hasty excuse and pretty much running away as soon as it became apparent that Eve was about to kiss her, Eve is overcome with embarrassment. Her body shrivels up with the shame, her head sinks down into her shoulders until her neck is no longer there, mortified by her own selfish behaviour. This will be one of those moments that will haunt her for the rest of her sad existence, a moment that will still bring her great shame when she reminisces over her life in old age.

Eve has just reached the conclusion that it is perhaps for the best that she never sees Villanelle again, to save at least a scrap of her dignity, when she notices that Villanelle is back in the bar.

A lot of thoughts run through Eve’s mind. The first is  _ wow, _ because Villanelle somehow manages to look even better than ever before, which is really saying something because she is always impeccably turned out. Tonight she wears a blood red silk shirt tucked into a pair of black pants that are held up by an elaborate bow around her waist. Her lips are stained with a colour that matches her shirt and her loose hair looks like it would be impossibly soft to the touch.

Seeing Villanelle again in all her beautiful three-dimensional glory is enough for Eve to temporarily forget that she has spent the last five days cringing at the memory of their last encounter. 

Villanelle’s return must be a good sign, right? Because if she didn’t want to see Eve again then there are about a million other bars in London that she could visit instead.

But Villanelle isn’t at her usual spot at the bar. Instead, she is slightly further down and, to Eve’s bitter disappointment, is already being served by Hugo.

Perhaps she  _ doesn’t _ want to see Eve after all.

This is all so confusing. Eve is reminded exactly why she rarely attempts to date. This is about as much fun as pouring vodka into her eyes would be, a painful ‘she likes me, she doesn’t like me’ game that Eve’s mind is playing with itself. Eve would quite like the ability to fast forward through this part until she gets to the point where the turmoil is all over, the point at which she is either in a happily loved-up relationship with Villanelle, or has grown past this crush that seems determined to drive her insane. 

What is Eve supposed to say to Villanelle? Should she acknowledge the almost-kiss and apologise? Laugh about it? Ignore that it even almost happened? Or even ignore Villanelle completely?

Before Eve has the chance to fully consider her options, Villanelle notices  _ her. _ Their eyes meet and Eve’s heart does a flip, and  _ damn _ this is the wrong time to be getting lost in Villanelle’s eyes again.

_ Pull it together, Eve. _

And then Villanelle smiles and gives a tiny wave, and everything is okay.

Everything is okay except for Eve’s heart, which will surely explode from the tumultuous back and forth of this entire situation.

Eve serves other customers because she has to, but she keeps half an eye on Villanelle throughout. It takes all of her self-restraint not to go and talk to her, but Eve has to do this to prove a point to herself. Villanelle will still be there later, when Eve has finished serving this group of university students that barely look old enough to be in her bar at all. She’ll still be there when Eve returns from the stock room with a fresh box of assorted crisps to keep below the counter. She’ll be back on less busy days and Eve will get her chance to speak to Villanelle again then. Until then, Eve can prove to the whole world, but especially to herself, that she is not dependent on Villanelle.

“Oh my god, Hugo. You are  _ so _ funny.”

Villanelle’s voice cuts through every other sound in the bar, as if she is standing right next to her. Eve’s head jerks up to look at Villanelle and jealousy starts to rise within her, but that is quickly replaced by confusion when she realises that Villanelle is not only listening intently to Hugo blabber about the rules of cricket or something else equally as uninteresting, but also laughing and enjoying herself.

Eve has nothing against Hugo, in fact she quite likes his sharp wit and dry sense of humour, but he is an acquired taste and not at all the kind of person that Eve envisions Villanelle getting along with. But that is exactly what Villanelle is doing, and she seems to be getting along with him very well indeed.

Perhaps they  _ are _ the kind of people who should get on well with each other. The more that Eve thinks about it, the more she sees their similarities. Expensive tastes, a good track record at picking up women, both loud and confident almost to the point of arrogance but in an inherently charming way. Eve can now see that there is a very fine line between being so similar that they annoy each other instantly and getting along extremely well. Villanelle and Hugo appear to be doing the latter.

Villanelle laughs again, then reaches across the counter to rest a hand on Hugo’s arm as she says something to him that is too quiet for Eve to be able to hear it over all the other noise.

_ Hell _ no.

That’s what she does to  _ Eve, _ not Hugo. The laughter and the conversations while working and even the way that she leans across the bar with affectionate touches - those are all usually reserved for Eve, yet here is Hugo, swooping in to take Eve’s place like a curly-haired vulture, as if Eve is entirely dispensable.

Like hell is Eve dispensable.

The coil of jealousy that has been slowly winding itself tighter and tighter since Eve first met Villanelle and saw her hitting on another woman snaps.

“Villanelle?” says Eve, stepping out from behind the bar and growling Villanelle’s name as she passes behind her. “With me.”

Villanelle pulls a face at Hugo, the kind of face that a child might pull at a friend when they know that the teacher is about to tell them off, but she slides off her stool obediently and follows Eve without a word. Eve pushes open the door to the bathrooms, hearing the click of Villanelle’s shoes against the wooden floor behind her, then holds open the door to the thankfully unoccupied disabled bathroom and gestures for Villanelle to go in ahead of her.

“Eve, what are we doing in h-?”

Eve cuts Villanelle off before she can finish the question by placing a hand on each side of her head and kissing her. Startled, Villanelle stumbles backwards, her back hitting the door and knocking it closed. 

It’s not sexy or romantic, or anything else that Eve might hope for out of a first kiss. It is clumsy, lips pressing together in not quite the right way, and desperate, at least on Eve’s part, unable to get close enough to Villanelle despite there being not even an inch of space between their bodies.

And then Villanelle starts to kiss her back.

Oh  _ shit, _ Villanelle is actually kissing her back.

Villanelle’s hands find Eve, her palms resting against the swell of her hips, where they squeeze the flesh through her clothes. Eve’s lips part as she gasps, which was perhaps Villanelle’s intention because there is now a tongue swiping into her mouth and this,  _ this _ is the kiss that Eve has been dreaming about.

Eve slides her hands into Villanelle’s hair, just as soft between her fingers as it looks. Villanelle’s lips are soft too, her skin is soft, everything about her is  _ soft. _

As lovely as it all is, Eve doesn’t want soft. Not after weeks of build-up. She wants rough squeezes, teeth catching against skin, nails scratching down her back and clothing in shreds around them as they wrestle with each other for control. Eve doesn’t want to be nice. She wants to fuck and be fucked.

With this in mind, Eve claws at Villanelle’s scalp in desperation and then catches Villanelle’s lower lip between her teeth, pulling until she lets out a gasp.

“Eve, wait…”

Villanelle pulls back from the kiss and leans against the door behind her, putting a few inches of space between them that is enough for Eve to be able to take a few deep breaths and process what has just happened.

Oh god, what if Eve has misjudged everything completely? Her mind, totally consumed by what she wants, never stopped to consider that Villanelle might not want the same thing.

“Sorry!” Eve blurts out immediately, withdrawing her hands from Villanelle’s hair and taking a step backwards. “Oh my god. I shouldn’t have just dragged you in here and kissed you without your permission. It was selfish and presumptuous and…”

Eve gets no further than that because Villanelle pushes herself off the door and catches Eve’s mouth in another kiss.

“And incredibly hot,” she murmurs against Eve’s lips. “I like women who know what they want. I just want to say a couple of things first.”

Villanelle claws at Eve’s clothes, fingers clenching through the material of the polo shirt branded with the name of Eve’s bar, then she releases and takes another step back.

“I ... I don’t want to hook up with you.”

Talk about mixed signals. Villanelle does want to kiss Eve, then she doesn’t. She does, and then she doesn’t. Eve feels as though she is a yo-yo on the end of a string, being dropped only to bounce back up again as Villanelle switches from one extreme to the other.

“Okay...” Eve says slowly, not entirely sure how to respond.

“No, I mean…” Villanelle leans her head back against the door and lets out a groan of frustration that bursts from her throat. “Shit, I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

Villanelle runs a hand through her hair, sweeping the golden tresses out of her face, then looks back at Eve.

“I have a confession,” she says, her face full of guilt as if to say ‘oops’ for whatever she is about to admit to. “I paid Hugo to pretend to flirt with me to make you jealous.”

“You…” Eve trails off, unable to continue out of sheer confusion. She thinks back to the jealousy she felt upon seeing Villanelle laughing with Hugo, a moment that realistically must have only been minutes ago, though Eve’s perception of time has been thoroughly distorted by the kiss that has happened since. “That makes no sense. Why would you do that?”

“Because  _ this  _ makes no sense,”says Villanelle, gesturing between herself and Eve.  _ “You _ make no sense to me. You make me feel things that nobody else does. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“But I’ve seen you pick up women. You’re good at it. Too good, if I’m completely honest.”

“That’s easy,” says Villanelle, with a shrug. “They didn’t matter. It’s an easy game to play when you don’t care about the result.” She hesitates for a few seconds, a crease appearing between her brows as she frowns, then she asks, “Do you remember when you asked me if it was hard to always pretend to be somebody else? Well, the answer is no. It was easy to put on an act because then if I got rejected, it wasn’t me that was getting rejected.”

“That’s crazy logic,” Eve scoffs.

“I am crazy. But it’s harder with you because I want to be the real me when I’m with you. And I want to be more than just a mind blowing hour of your life.” Villanelle’s eyes darken and the corner of her mouth twitches up into a little smile, as she lowers her voice and adds, “Or less than an hour - I’m kind of really good at giving women orgasms, so...”

“We’ll see about that,” interrupts Eve, raising her eyebrows in amusement at Villanelle’s self-assurance.

Villanelle grins in response and reaches out to take Eve’s hand in her own, tangling their fingers together in a way that suddenly has Eve thinking about one thing and one thing only, not helped by Villanelle’s promise that she could blow Eve’s mind, if given the chance.

“I hope so,” says Villanelle, squeezing Eve’s fingers. Their intertwined hands swinging between them, Eve thinks - _ hopes _ \- that Villanelle is about to pull her closer for another kiss “Wait, I need to finish. I don’t want to  _ just  _ hook up with you. I want everything else as well. Movie nights and picnics in the park and morning shower sex and ... and all the other stuff. All the stuff I’ve never done with women before. I want that with you.”

Realising that up until now, Villanelle is the only one who has been open and honest about her feelings and that Eve’s own acknowledgement of affection has only come through the impulsive decision to drag Villanelle into a bathroom and kiss her senseless, Eve decides that it is time for an admission of her own.

“I thought you didn’t like me like that. I’ve been thinking about you pretty much non-stop since I met you but I’ve been telling myself that you didn’t feel the same. I’ve seen you hit on women. You didn’t put any of those moves on me.“

Villanelle lifts Eve’s hand to her mouth and presses a series of feather-light kisses to the back of Eve’s fingers.

“That’s because I didn’t want to treat you like one of those women,” says Villanelle, in a voice that is so soft it is almost unrecognisable. “And I  _ have  _ been putting moves on you. I touched your head and told you that you looked like a sexy lion.”

Eve lets out an inelegant snort.

“Those were your moves?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at Villanelle.

“I’ve been trying to drop hints for weeks that I’m into you. I tell you that you’re my favourite bartender and how much I enjoy seeing you. I even told you that I’d stopped sleeping with other women. I just thought that maybe you didn’t like me back.”

“I do like you,” Eve insists. “A lot.” Eve lets out an exasperated laugh and shakes her head, before she continues, “God, listen to us. All this talk of “liking” each other is so high school. But I want those things too. The movies and the picnics.”

Eve lifts her free hand to Villanelle’s face and uses it to cup her jaw. Villanelle’s head instinctively leans into the touch, nudging her cheek against the flat palm of Eve’s hand like a cat nuzzling into a hand that is petting it.

“And the shower sex?”

“I’ll take any kind of sex right now,” admits Eve, surprised by the husky inflections that creep in around the edge of her own voice, a product of a ticking time bomb of sexual tension that could explode at any moment.

“You make me feel so special,” murmurs Villanelle, her other hand seeking out Eve’s waist and using it to pull her closer, until Villanelle’s body is trapped between the bathroom door and Eve’s body.

“Shut up,” replies Eve, dropping her hand from Villanelle’s face only for long enough to locate the lock on the door behind Villanelle, which she swiftly flicks shut to guard against unwanted interruptions, “And  _ kiss _ me, Villanelle.”

Villanelle’s tongue darts out to moisten lips that threaten to curl up in a satisfied smirk, as she lifts her hand up to the back of Eve’s head and loosens the clip that holds it all into place. She runs her fingers through Eve’s hair, staring in wonder at the volume Eve’s hair holds when not pinned out of the way of her face. Eve has never been the biggest fan of her own hair - it takes too long to dry and style and it’s completely incompatible with London’s constant drizzle - but Eve thinks that she could get used to Villanelle showing her appreciation for it in this way, maybe even start to appreciate it more herself.

The action reminds Eve of Villanelle doing the exact same thing just a few nights ago. And if Eve had been tempted to kiss Villanelle then, without the luxury of the privacy that this bathroom affords them, Eve knows that she won’t be able to resist now that they are the only two around. 

Another memory surfaces in Eve’s mind, one of Villanelle pulling back and making a hasty escape from the bar just as Eve was about to kiss her the other night.

“Wait…”

Villanelle lets out a groan that is surely loud enough to be heard by the other patrons in the bar, her head falling back against the door with a thud.

“Eve, you are  _ killing _ me.”

“I just have one more question,” says Eve, running her own hand through her hair and no doubt messing up Villanelle’s artistry. “Why did you run away? The other day, you played with my hair and we almost kissed, but then you left. Why?” 

“I didn’t know for sure how you felt,” confesses Villanelle.

“I was about to  _ kiss _ you and you didn’t know how I felt?”

Villanelle raises both hands to her own face and pushes the heels of her palms into the hollow of her eyes sockets in shame.

“Ugh, please, Eve. I have a reputation to uphold and my ego cannot take much more of this bashing.”

Eve tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows, before she rasps in a low voice, “Bring that ego over here and let me kiss you.”

Eve is grateful that Villanelle complies, pushing herself off the door and closing the last couple of feet between them. Her hands find Eve’s body, one resting on her waist and the other coming up to the back of Eve’s head to bury itself in soft curls, before she finally ducks her head to kiss Eve.

It’s even better than before. The first kiss was fuelled entirely by Eve’s own desperation and jealousy. This kiss is built on something much more. Eve can taste Villanelle’s confessions on her tongue, can feel the truth in how she feels about Eve in the way that she kisses back. There is still a hunger there,  _ god _ there’s still a hunger, but it’s built upon a promise rather than a dream.

Eve wants Villanelle and now she knows that Villanelle really does want her too.

Eve’s motor skills are seriously impaired by Villanelle’s dizzying proximity, but she’s going to give undressing Villanelle a damn good shot anyway. Or at least, she’ll undress Villanelle enough to be able to slip a hand between her legs.

“I was so jealous when you hooked up with that woman in this very bathroom,” Eve says, as her hands find Villanelle’s belt and fumble with the fabric, pulling back from the kiss so that she can focus more of her attention removing the belt. “I was jealous of all the women you hooked up with, but especially after that night.”

Villanelle leans back against the door and watches Eve’s hands work with disbelief in her eyes, as if she is struggling to comprehend that this is actually happening.

“You had no need to be jealous,” she tells Eve.

“I really did…”

“No,” says Villanelle, shaking her head. “I don’t know if you remember, but there was a night I came into your bar and then went home with two girls.”

Something twists unpleasantly deep within Eve’s gut at the memory of seeing Villanelle sitting between those two girls in the bar.

“The threesome night?” she asks, concentrating extra hard on unthreading the bow at the front of the belt until it hangs open at the front of Villanelle’s pants. “Yeah, I remember. I was jealous of them too.”

“I called one of them your name by accident,” admits Villanelle. “She didn’t mind, but that’s what made me realise how much I liked you.” Villanelle pauses, her lower lip caught between her teeth, before she confesses, “I haven’t had sex with anybody else since that night.”

Eve’s hands still on the front of Villanelle’s pants. The threesome must have been several weeks ago and given Villanelle’s track record, she finds it hard to believe that Villanelle hasn’t slept with anybody since then. Sure, Eve hasn’t actually  _ seen _ Villanelle go home with anybody, or even attempt to hit on anybody since that night, but she just kind of assumed that Villanelle was getting some elsewhere instead, or that she was doing it in such a subtle way that Eve no longer noticed.

“You haven’t?” 

“No, because you were the only one that I wanted. I decided I couldn’t keep having sex with other women and pretending that they were you.”

“You actually did that?” Eve asks, her eyes wide. 

“Kind of,” Villanelle answers, with a nod. Her fingers dig into Eve’s waist, pulling her closer, if that is even possible. “It’s been much easier to get off when I’m thinking of you.” 

Eve feels the arousal settle low between her legs. It soaks through her underwear and she would be uncomfortable, except that her fingers pop open the button on the front of Villanelle’s pants, which are tailored in such a way that means they fall straight down her legs and pool below her knees, and suddenly there are far more pressing things to attend to than her own needs.

Villanelle’s underwear is black silk with a lace trim and Eve thinks that she has never seen anything so pretty in her life, until she looks back up at Villanelle’s face and finds her staring back at Eve with such wonder in her eyes, such desire, as if  _ Eve _ is the one standing there with her pants around her ankles and only a gorgeous silk barrier in the way of what she wants.

“Can I…?” Eve dares to ask, cautious hands finding Villanelle’s hips and resting there, barely daring to touch the soft skin revealed by the removal of the pants.

“Please,” Villanelle rasps, pushing her hips off the wall and into Eve’s body in a suggestion of what she wants to happen next.

Eve’s thumbs locate the elastic waistband of Villanelle’s underwear, hooking beneath the elastic and drawing them down only as far as mid-thigh, which is far enough to give her the room to send one of those hands between Villanelle’s legs, tentatively exploring until she finds-

Oh  _ fuck. _

And Eve has no idea what she is doing. 

It’s not the first time she’s been between another woman’s legs, but it’s the first time that it has mattered. Meaningless hookups in the past have been about taking, about being selfish, about getting the other person off as a means to getting herself off too. But not tonight - Eve wants to do this for Villanelle, to make this good for Villanelle. 

Of course, making it good for Villanelle will do a lot for Eve’s own pleasure too, but that is all secondary to actually getting Villanelle off.

Eve’s fingers slide easily through Villanelle’s folds, so easily, in fact, that it may not take long to accomplish her goal at all. She cups Villanelle’s warmth in the palm of her hand as exploratory fingertips spread Villanelle open, stunned by the stickiness that drips onto her fingers as she moves lower.

Eve is barely even doing anything yet, but Villanelle’s head falls back against the bathroom door with a soft thud, her eyes squeezed shut, and she manages to moan, “Oh god, Eve.”

“I can’t believe how wet you are,” says Eve, drawing her fingers back up to where the thatch of neatly trimmed hair meets the apex of Villanelle’s thighs and marvelling at the way they glisten under the fluorescent lighting up above. 

“That’s all you,” Villanelle rasps, her voice deliciously sexy. “Nobody else has ever turned me on like this before.”

“It’s so hot,” confesses Eve, as her fingers continue to explore. “You’re so hot.”

Villanelle’s hips jerk forward as Eve’s fingertips locate her clit, her hand on Eve’s waist squeezing hard enough to surely leave a bruise. But Eve doesn’t mind the pain, not when the visual in front of her is what it is. Villanelle’s cheeks are slightly flushed, her eyelids pressed shut, a little crease between her eyebrows from the exertion of trying to keep herself together, and the best part of it? That Villanelle is  _ this _ much of a mess when Eve has barely even touched her.

Lacking the experience to know if she’s doing the right thing, Eve acts almost entirely on instinct, figuring out what Villanelle likes from the sounds that she makes. She rests her forehead against Villanelle’s as her fingers slide either side of Villanelle’s clit to dip lower, circling around her entrance in a taunting promise of what she plans to do later. When Eve realises that she has a free hand currently doing nothing, she gropes unashamedly at Villanelle’s silk covered tit, basking in the way that Villanelle arches her chest out into the touch, desperate for more.

“Eve,” pleads Villanelle, as one of her hands drops to grasp Eve’s wrist, attempting to direct Eve’s fingers to where she wants them. “Stop teasing.”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a really long time,” confesses Eve, letting the tip of her index finger dip past Villanelle’s entrance, only far enough to tease, before she withdraws it again and returns her attention to Villanelle’s clit. “Let me savour it.”

“You can savour it later. Just fuck me already.”

“Impatience looks good on you,” says Eve, rewarding Villanelle by sliding lower again, though this time she follows through and enters fully with a slick finger, awed by the way that she can feel Villanelle clench around her at the unexpected intrusion.

“Yes,” Villanelle hisses, her eyes fluttering open to stare back at Eve, hazy with lust. “Just like that.”

Eve moves slowly at first, testing Villanelle to see what she likes. She withdraws her finger, then pushes it back in, deliberately nudging the heel of her hand against Villanelle’s clit as she reaches the hilt. The stimulation seems to be exactly what Villanelle requires because her hand tightens around Eve’s wrist, encouraging her to pick up the pace with each thrust, while her other hand moves up from Eve’s waist and buries itself in Eve’s thick hair, clawing at the curls as if they are the only thing she can hold onto to keep herself upright against the bathroom door.

“You like this?” Eve asks, already knowing the answer from the arousal dripping down her fingers and the little choked gasps that Villanelle lets out with each thrust, but wanting to hear the verbal confirmation too.

“Don’t stop,” Villanelle begs, as her teeth dig into her lower lip.

Encouraged, Eve pulls out completely, then thrust back in with two fingers, harder than before as Villanelle’s lack of composure fires up Eve’s confidence. She lowers her face to Villanelle’s neck as her hand works, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin she finds there, then catching a sensitive spot between her teeth, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to elicit the involuntary gasp that escapes from Villanelle’s throat.

“I’m going to come soon.”

Villanelle’s words land right between Eve’s legs, and she clenches her thighs together as she doubles her efforts, knowing that the sooner she gets Villanelle off, the sooner her own needs can be taken care of. She doesn’t have it within her to tease any longer, desperate to watch Villanelle fall apart underneath her touch. Her forearm starts to cramp from the exertion but she pushes through it, dragging her fingers against Villanelle’s front wall each time she pulls out, only to push back in with vigour. Villanelle rocks her hips in time with Eve’s hand, matching her thrust for thrust as she chases the orgasm that must be just barely out of reach. Eve can tell that it’s going to happen soon and she wants to see it, wants to feel Villanelle crumble around her fingers.

With this in mind, Eve sends her other hand down and rubs fast circles around the hood of Villanelle’s clit, lifting her head so that she can watch the way Villanelle struggles to keep herself together, eyes heavy with desire and the most beautiful sounds, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, spill from her mouth.

“Fuck, I’m-”

Villanelle tenses as the orgasm hits and then her hips jerk forwards, muscles spasming with each wave that courses through her body. Eve works her through it, her own mouth slack in awe as her fingers continue to pump, overwhelmed by the fact that Villanelle is coming, like actually  _ coming _ because of Eve’s touches. It’s one of the most beautiful things that Eve has ever witnessed, a work of art that they’ve created together, and she tries to draw it out for as long as possible, continuing until Villanelle is too sensitive and has to drag Eve’s hand away herself.

“Oh my god…” Villanelle gasps, slumping back against the door as her eyes blink open fully to stare at Eve, as if she can’t quite believe what has just happened. “I think that might be the best orgasm anybody ever gave me.”

Villanelle bends and finds the waistband of her underwear, still caught around her knees, and pulls them back up, though she leaves her pants puddled around her feet. As she starts to recover from her recent climax, a slow smirk spreads across her lips, with a familiarity that just completely ruins Eve, reminding her that the night is far from over for both of them.

Not in here, though. As she comes back to her senses, Eve remembers that they are in a bathroom, the very public disabled bathroom of the bar that Eve owns, and that anybody could walk past. That anybody could have  _ already _ walked past and heard them at it, just as Eve heard Villanelle with the other woman all those weeks ago.

Eve has never been more grateful that her flat is only upstairs.

Wiping her sticky fingers against the thigh of her uniform pants and knowing that if all goes to plan, she’ll be taking them off very soon anyway, Eve reaches into the pocket and pulls out a set of keys, which she presses into Villanelle’s palm.

“To get into my apartment upstairs,” she explains. “Wait for me there. I just need to check everything is taken care of in the bar and then I’ll be up to join you.”

Villanelle makes a show of passing the keys through the open collar of her silk shirt and tucking them into the cup of her bra for safekeeping, then pulls Eve down into a slow kiss.

“Don’t be too long,” Villanelle murmurs against Eve’s lips. “I’d hate to have to continue without you.”

Eve catches Villanelle’s lips between her teeth in a warning, then says, “Don’t you dare. I’ll be five minutes. Ten at most.” And then, because Villanelle seems like the kind of person who loves a challenge, she adds, “If you can wait that long, there might be a reward in it for you.”

Villanelle’s head falls back against the door as she lets out a soft groan, but her fingers continue to toy with the soft curls on the nape of Eve’s neck.

“You are  _ killing _ me, Eve.”

* * *

Eve wakes up feeling content.

A few orgasms can do that to a person’s mood.

That, and the woman currently half-draped across her body.

If Eve had been asked before last night, she would have laughed at the mere suggestion that Villanelle would be a cuddler. Eve wouldn’t even have her pinned as the type to spend the night post-sex, but Eve is delighted to be proven wrong on both counts. Villanelle is without a doubt the clingiest person that Eve has ever shared a bed with, as if afraid that Eve will get out of bed and leave her alone if she doesn’t wrap her entire body around Eve’s. Eve wonders if Villanelle is even aware that she is doing it, or if it is her subconscious that doesn’t want to let go.

Eve’s limbs feel heavy with sleep and Villanelle’s body weight on top of her own is a comfort that she doesn’t want to sacrifice, but her bladder is crying out for her to pee soon. Eve really doesn’t want to disturb Villanelle, not when she looks so peaceful with her honey-blonde hair splayed out across Eve’s shoulder and her lips pushed into a slight pout from where her cheek rests against Eve’s chest, but she really needs to find a way to extract herself from beneath Villanelle. Then, with any luck, she can quickly do her business and slip back into bed without Villanelle realising that she was ever not there.

Too late...

“Nooo,” Villanelle’s low voice whines, her whole body vibrating against Eve’s side with the sound and her arm and leg tighten across Eve’s body. “Don’t go anywhere. I won’t let you leave me.”

“As cute as this clinginess is, I’m about to pee all over us both if you don’t let me go.”

Villanelle lifts her head, tousled hair sticking out in all directions. Her eyelids are heavy from recent slumber and one of her cheeks is pinker than the other from where it’s been pressed up against Eve’s collar bone.

“Gross,” says Villanelle, wrinkling her face up in disgust. She unwinds her body from around Eve’s and rolls off to the side, brandishing a hand in the direction of Eve’s ensuite bathroom. “Go. I don’t want your pee on me.”

Eve throws the covers off and sits up, letting her legs hang off the side of the bed as she arches her back and stretches out her arms. There is a pleasant ache in her limbs, muscles sore from last night’s activities, that will no doubt linger for a couple of days as a reminder of Villanelle and their time together. 

“Did I wear you out?”

Eve turns her head to look back at Villanelle, who is now propped up on one elbow with Eve’s sheets pooled around her waist, showing off her tits in all their wonderful glory, complete with the red mark that Eve sucked into the side of the left one at some point during round three. Eve’s cheeks burn at the memory and she presses her thighs together to alleviate some of the arousal that starts to build there, which only draws her attention to the slight soreness there too.

Eve looks away again before she can allow Villanelle to charm her back into bed.

“You had to bribe my employee to make me jealous in order to get me to kiss you,” Eve reminds her. “You don’t get to be cocky right now.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?”

Eve gives in and turns again, arching a judgemental eyebrow at Villanelle.

“It’s still not something to brag about.”

Villanelle holds her gaze in an impossible staring contest that neither wants to tear themselves away from, and Eve can only feel herself getting more turned on by the second as memories from last night flash through her mind at hyperspeed - hands pulling at Eve’s hair while she ate Villanelle out, sitting on Villanelle’s face for her second orgasm, almost reducing Villanelle to tears when they came at the same time by riding each other’s thighs.

Definitely  _ not _ a night that Eve will forget in a hurry. 

“Pee,” Villanelle orders, her voice husky with arousal in a way that tells Eve that she is reliving exactly the same memories too. “The sooner you go, the sooner we can go for that shower sex we talked about last night.”

Eve’s mouth curls up into a slow smile.

That  _ does _ sound like a pretty good way to start the day.

“I’ll warm up the water,” says Eve, standing up and crossing over to the bathroom. “Two minutes, then I’m starting without you.”

* * *

“Morning!”

Eve greets Hugo enthusiastically when he arrives fifteen minutes before the bar opens at midday to help her set up.

“You’re in a good mood,” he comments, as he goes behind the counter and drops his coat off in the back room, before returning with a curious expression on his face.

“Am I?” says Eve, feigning oblivion. 

Eve is in an  _ excellent _ mood. It turns out that shower sex with Villanelle is just as good as every other kind of sex. It’s going to be a struggle to concentrate on serving customers with so much else on her mind.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with last night, would it?” asks Hugo, arching a knowing eyebrow at Eve.

Eve turns her back to Hugo and takes a glass from below the counter, before filling it with water and taking a sip to rehydrate her mouth, which has gone very dry at the prospect of being called out by Hugo.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really? Does the name  _ Villanelle _ not ring any bells? Because what I saw last night was you two disappearing together, only for you to emerge half an hour later to tell us that you were taking the rest of the night…”

“Hi, baby - oh!”

Eve could hit her head against the wall when Villanelle emerges from the door that leads up to Eve’s flat at that exact moment, stopping only when she realises that Eve is not alone in the bar. Villanelle is freshly showered, her hair now dry and tied back in a sleek ponytail, though she has put on the clothes she was wearing last night, despite the suggestion that she could borrow something from Eve’s closet.

Eve can feel Hugo’s eyes boring a hole through the side of her head, but she can’t bring herself to look at him.

“You have no idea, huh, Eve?” he asks, a triumphant edge to his voice.

“Shut it, Hugo,” Eve shoots at him, before giving Villanelle her full attention. She can’t quite believe that this gorgeous woman spent the night in  _ her _ bed, had sex with  _ her _ in a public bathroom, declared attraction for  _ her. _ Eve can only hope that Villanelle meant everything that she said, that it wasn’t all part of a really elaborate and high-effort scheme to get Eve to sleep with her before never seeing her again.

“I have to go to work,” says Villanelle, coming to stand on the other side of the counter to Eve in a way that is reminiscent of all the evenings they’ve spent getting to know each other.

“On a Saturday?” asks Eve.

“My boss called,” says Villanelle, with an apologetic grimace. “The bastard. He’s already pissed that I missed the first few times he called when we were in the shower.”

Behind Eve, Hugo makes a little noise. Eve doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s probably wearing a stupid grin on his face at the mention of Eve and Villanelle sharing a shower together. Eve makes a mental pact with herself to assign him an extra bathroom duty for each inappropriate comment he makes.

“It’s fine,” Eve tells Villanelle, reaching across the counter and squeezing her hand. “I understand.”

“So when can I see you again?” asks Villanelle, eyebrows raised in hope. “We could go out for dinner sometime. I know a really good seafood place that…”

Eve leans fully across the counter, pushing herself onto her tiptoes so that she can reach, and kisses Villanelle square on the lips. One of her hands props up her body weight on the counter while the other finds the back of Villanelle’s head, fingers weaving into the soft ponytail that she finds there. She doesn’t care if they’re giving Hugo a show, doesn’t care about the fact that she knows that he literally won’t shut up about this for the rest of his shift, because none of that matters. 

What does matter is Villanelle. Villanelle, who changed her lifestyle of casual hookups for Eve, who visits this bar specifically to see Eve, who might be Eve’s now to kiss and touch and have.

“Is that a yes?” Villanelle mumbles into Eve’s mouth.

“I’m not working tomorrow night, if you’re free?”

“Tomorrow night is great,” says Villanelle. She takes out her phone and unlocks the screen, then slides it across the bar with a new contact open. “Give me your number and I’ll text you.” She lowers her voice, though not enough for Hugo to no longer be able to hear her, and adds, “And maybe I’ll send you a picture or two, if you know what I mean? To help you get through your shift today.”

Eve feels her mouth go incredibly dry, and realises that she needs to usher Villanelle swiftly from the bar before she ends up doing something incredibly inappropriate in front of Hugo. She finishes typing her number into Villanelle’s phone, then pushes the device back across the counter to its owner.

“Go,” she urges Villanelle, before she reaches for Villanelle again to pull her in for a final kiss, her lips lingering against Villanelle’s in a way that contradicts her words. As she pulls back, she whispers softly, “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Eve.”

Eve watches the sway of Villanelle’s hips as she crosses the bar and lets herself out, sad to see her leave but knowing that this is far from goodbye. Instead, it is just the beginning.

It is not until the door swings shut and Villanelle is gone that Hugo decides to speak up, his voice oozing with smugness.

“Remind me what you said to me about how this was never going to happen?”

Eve throws the cleaning rag at his head.

**Author's Note:**

> @almostafantasia on tumblr and twitter


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